


When the Fly meets the Web

by arcsinx



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Mob, Cheating, Complicated Relationships, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Is it safe to say romance?, M/M, Mafia AU, Mafia Baby Yuri, Mafia Boss Otabek, Mafia families, Marriage of Convenience, Romance, Yuri Plisetsky is a Brat, Yuri Plisetsky's Fashion Sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 11:39:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10740963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcsinx/pseuds/arcsinx
Summary: The woman, Otabek's wife, a pretty young thing with a weird accent, looks over her shoulder at Yuri. She doesn't pull a face, doesn't make her hatred for him visible. Yuri hates her all the more for it, for making up this fake, innocent, flowery persona, batting her eyelashes at Otabek to tell him his weird friend was glaring at her again. As though she didn't know. As though no one knew Yuri Plisetsky and Otabek Altin have an affair.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance but it was raining last Sunday and I hate rain so I wrote this because it always leaves me in a mood for somber things. Hope you like it!

Yuri hates the rain. Hates rainy days that make everything gloomy, that turns the earth into sludge that clings to the soles of his ridiculously expensive shoes. Mostly, Yuri hates the reason why he's wearing expensive shoes in the rain. 

He watches the small crowd around the alcove, black umbrellas under the thin rain that hasn't stopped pouring since Yuri'd left his loft. They all wear black, black suits, black ties, black expensive shoes, black dresses and black coats. Yuri frowns, closing his lips around the edge of his cigarette and watching the bright flame that forms at the end of the stick, parting his lips to blow smoke away. His new bodyguard, Francis or Frank, Yuri didn't know, furrowed his lips and turned his face away. On his first day of work he'd told Yuri his mother died of lung cancer due to her habit of smoking. He'd said it as though he expected it to incite an epiphany, or even a bout of camaraderie out of Yuri that would prevent him from smoking in his presence. Needless to say, Yuri didn't give a shit. 

He needed a break from all of that. A break from standing under the rain, surrounded by those idiots that were unable to tell him anything other than how sorry they were for his loss. Even more so when a sleek black car pulled over to reveal Otabek, in his smooth black suit, climbing out of the driver's seat to offer his hand to his pretty new wife. Yuri had never wanted so much to hit someone. Only now the memory of it, the sight of their perfectly straightened backs as they watched the ceremony, black umbrella to keep them away from the rain, was enough to make him grit his teeth, tightening his hold on his cigarette until it'd lost all form and Yuri had to stomp on it. 

"Would you kill someone if I asked you to, Francis?" Yuri asks, not taking his eyes away from Otabek, who is watching the ceremony with his perfect, serious, straight face. How dare him? How fucking dare him? To bring her here, in Yuri's presence. On this moment of Yuri's life when he needed someone so badly. 

"Frank," the man corrects, sending Yuri a small, irritated glance. "And no, Mr Plisetsky, I'm not allowed to kill other bosses," he crosses his hands in front of his lap, in a kind of solemn pose, "but I know some who would be glad to take the job," he smirks tightly. 

Yuri doubts Frank wouldn't if he asked him. Frank hated Otabek. 

The woman, Otabek's wife, a pretty young thing with a weird accent, looks over her shoulder at Yuri. She doesn't pull a face, doesn't make her hatred for him visible. Yuri hates her all the more for it, for making up this fake, innocent, flowery persona, batting her eyelashes at Otabek to tell him his weird friend was glaring at her again. As though she didn't know. As though no one knew Yuri Plisetsky and Otabek Altin had an affair. 

She turns her face back to the priest when Otabek circles her waist with an arm. Yuri takes another cigarette out of his pocket, lights it. Frank watches him but says nothing. 

"We should go back," his bodyguard says. 

"I'm not finished," Yuri glances at him, half-way into his smoke. As though no one attending didn't already realize Yuri'd left because Otabek brought his wife. 

"They will lower the coffin soon," Frank says, and in fact, Yuri can hear the priest saying his last words over the sound of the rain. 

"Let them," Yuri tilts his chin up defiantly. He doesn't know if he wants to be present for that anyway. 

Frank gives a put-upon sigh. He hates Yuri too. 

A moment goes by and then a figure breaks from the crowd. Otabek. He walks down the pathway to the chapel towards them, under the rain. His wife looks over her shoulder at his retreating back, pathetically holding her umbrella. Her eyes find Yuri's for a second and she turns sharply away, lips shaking. 

Yuri almost feels like winking back at her. He is a little shit. 

Otabek clears the sole of his shoes on one of the stone steps, approaching Yuri carefully. His eyes look dark, and so _sad_. "Yura," he murmurs, and stops in front of him. Frank fidgets, glaring at Otabek and sending Yuri a careful glance. 

"You needn't have come if you were going to bring that bitch," is how Yuri greets him, unapologetically dragging more of his cigarette. 

"Yuri," Otabek drops the pet name, giving him a serious look. 

Yuri snorts, "What? Protecting her honour already? Sorry the funeral spoiled your honeymoon." 

Otabek purses his lips, nostrils flaring in irritation as he pockets his hands. They spend a moment in heavy silence. Otabek doesn't look at Yuri, is staring instead at his neck, where he'd promised to always leave a mark on. Yuri's neck, despite his promise, is still spotless, result of the days he'd spent without his lover, who was too busy in his honeymoon in fucking Greece. 

Otabek's family is an old ally of his. Not as powerful as them, but his roots run as deep as Yuri's. They'd known each other since children, and Yuri still dreams of summer nights spent in his grandfather's old study, fifteen and stubborn as all hell, being gently fucked by an eighteen year old Otabek, whose cock filled him in a way that made Yuri want to cry. 

Yuri had spent all summer provoking him. He'd always found the Altin's older son to be sinfully attractive, dark and sombre, quiet in his own way, always sticking to his father, always polite. He was the perfect son to follow in his father's footsteps. Not at all like Yuri, who wore skirts just to get his grandfather mad, whose vocabulary already consisted of a good deal of curse words at the tender age of twelve. Yuri, because Otabek had played him right into his hand, thought they would marry one day. Now the thought of it makes his eyes sting more than his grandfather's dead body does. 

"Black doesn't suit you," Otabek points out. 

Yuri doesn't need to look down to know what he's talking about. He is, by Victor's insistence and Katsuki's tearful cajoling, wearing the nicest pair of suit he owns. Yuri smirks. "Funny," he tilts his chin to the side, "you seemed to love me in my black lingerie." 

Frank chokes at his side. Oh, yes, the reason why he hates Otabek? Because if it weren't for him Frank wouldn't be made to listen to them fucking. And Yuri loves to fuck very loudly. 

Otabek shuts his eyes as though asking for divine patience. "Yura-" he begins. 

"If you need reacquainting I'm still free every Thursday." 

"Yura, I'm so sorry," Otabek speaks over him. Yuri's smirk falls off. "For Nikolai. Yuri, I'm sorry." 

Yuri's bottom lip trembles. He hates Otabek so much. He wants to claw his eyes out, wants to dig his hands into his chest, wants to destroy him. Why can't he have him? He was the only thing Yuri truly ever wanted. But Yuri took it for granted and now he was left with nothing. 

Yuri tweaks his cigarette aside. He hates this kind of talk. "Beka," he says, and his voice comes out hoarse. He turns his face away in a knee-jerk reaction, "Frank, leave," he commands, and Frank walks away with a nod. 

Otabek reaches out to squeeze Yuri's waist comfortingly. Yuri can feel a headache coming and his eyes brim with tears. He hadn't felt like crying before. Yuri is not sentimental. That's why he smokes in front of Frank, uncaring of his dead mother, that's why he and Otabek fuck even though he's married, that's why Yuri is who he is. But in that moment he feels something odd, something cold and heavy, something terrible that drags a sob out of him. The memory of his grandfather is so vivid in his head that Yuri doesn't know how he can go on without him. He wasn't the nicest man Yuri'd ever known. In fact, Yuri came to hate him when he'd made he and Otabek separate. But he was family. He'd already lost Beka, and now this too. 

Otabek brings him up to his chest wordlessly, letting Yuri's tears moisten his suit. Yuri misses the feel of his bare skin against his own and digs his nails into Otabek's shoulder blades. Otabek cards his fingers through his hair soothingly, supporting his chin on Yuri's head and kissing the crown of it. "It's all right, Yura. You'll be fine." 

"No, Beka, no, he's gone," Yuri smudges his face against the seam of Otabek's impeccable suit. "I- I promised him. Before he died. But now he's gone." 

Otabek makes to pull away, but Yuri drags him closer. "Yura, Yuri, don't- Nikolai has always wanted what was best for us," he tilts Yuri's chin up with his knuckles and stares at him. The metal of his wedding ring feels cold against Yuri's skin, but Yuri loves those eyes. He loves everything about Otabek. "Don't confuse things." 

"Beka," Yuri babbles, "divorce her." Otabek is already shaking his head. "Please, Beka," Yuri clings to Otabek's collar, "you don't love her. You don't." 

"That's not about love, Yuri," Otabek pulls away, "my family-" 

"Ugh! Your family, Beka?! Is it so fucking important to you?" Yuri exclaims. Otabek stares back at him impassively. "Let me tell you something," Yuri points an accusing finger at him, "people already know. People already talk about us and if you're living under the illusion that your little perfect wife doesn't know how you shove your cock in me under her nose you're sorely mistaken," Yuri hisses. "Do as you must then if your family name is so important. But I've done as my family abided and look at me. My family is gone." 

Yuri feels so furious that he leaves. Otabek calls him, weakly, Victor and Katsuki turn their heads when he leaves without watching the rest of the ceremony, but Yuri doesn't give a fuck. He can't stand being in their presence. Afterwards he'll regret pushing Otabek away, he'll regret not listening to him and not doing as he'd told him to. But Yuri doesn't know how far his own brain can trick him into blaming himself for being the sole reason why Otabek isn't always beside him. Yuri had done nothing wrong. Circumstances were shit. Maybe his grandfather had always been right. Maybe all Yuri and the Altin boy needed was distance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I did it again. Also, not sure if mafia baby represents what Yuri is but it's going to stay as a tag because I can't think of anything better. He's the grandson of the mob, so he just lazes around all day and spends money. Hope you enjoy!

When Yuri climbs out of the car Frank shows up with an umbrella. It's only a short distance to the front steps of what used to be his house when a kid. The great mansion was Nikolai's idea, _of course_. So Yuri, tired and depleted and with dark circles under his eyes, bats Frank away. Someone opens the door for him, the invisible butler who was so shifty Yuri never got to see his face. He offers to get Yuri's coat too and Yuri's only response is to walk further into the house. 

He doesn't like this place. Everything is dark hardwood, bearing some similarity with Russian's classic style. Yuri's flats barely make a sound when stepping into the hallway, and he roams around in his sling handbag for a smoke and his lighter. 

The study is at the end of the hallway and Yuri doesn't knock before opening the door. Victor and Katsuki immediately turn to him. Victor is sat on an armchair, arm slung around Katsuki, propped on the arm of it. They both seemed to have been discussing something important in hushed breaths. 

Yuri frowns at Victor's suit. Who the hell wears that home? "Interrupting?" He asks neutrally, stepping up to them to take the seat opposite Victor's. 

Katsuki makes the face he always does in Yuri's presence: of aggravated worry and helpless sorrow. He even inclines his upper body in Yuri's direction. "Yuri, how are you feeling? We were so worried when you left the ceremony," he says, glancing at Victor, who doesn't do more than give Yuri a pitiful grin. By now he already knows Yuri is a lost case. No need to fret over him, which Katsuki is not hard-shelled enough to understand. 

Yuri rolls his eyes, crossing his legs and plucking the end of the stick between his lips. He cups his hands to light the end of it, but catches Victor's hard gaze. "Oh, what? I can't fucking smoke in my fucking house?" 

Victor says nothing for a moment, but gently nudges Katsuki's side. Katsuki gets up but doesn't leave the room, instead watches Yuri with big, worried eyes. "You should probably quit smoking so much, Yuri," he mumbles for what has to be the hundredth time. Yuri doesn't even answer him anymore. 

Victor touches the back of Katsuki's thigh, giving him a gentle smile and inclining his head to the door. Katsuki sighs, supporting both hands on his hips. "Fine, but I'll go make katsudon. And Yuri has to eat it," he turns suddenly determined eyes to Yuri, who tries his hardest not to be moved. Katsuki nods to himself, cupping Victor's cheek to give him a peck. Yuri averts his eyes quickly, stubbing the end of his cigarette on a ballerina shaped ashtray. Only when he hears the sound of the door shutting does he look back at Victor. 

"A suit, really? You're taking this boss thing much to far," Yuri comments. 

Victor gives him an amused smirk. "I have a meeting in a little while. We have to be stylish, Yuri. You, of all people, should know that," he gives Yuri's choice of clothes an interesting look, brows knitting ever so slightly together. 

Yuri pulls on the end of his dress self-consciously. Yuri has a fashion sense that leaves room for questioning, but he likes his clothes, even vulgar as they are. He wears a short black dress that barely covers his thighs, a wide stripe of pale skin showing between the hem of it and the end of his thigh-high stockings. All black, because he likes the excuse that he's mourning for his grandfather. Oh, and his white fur-coat. Because it was gift from Nikolai and made Yuri look like a damn expensive whore. 

Yuri blows smoke in his direction, but Victor barely blinks. His time with Nikolai has hardened him to Yuri's jabs. "What did you want with me?" Yuri goes straight for gold. 

"We need to talk," Victor leans forward, elbows propped on his knees. Yuri lifts an eyebrow in his direction. "You and Altin still not talking?" 

"That's none of your fucking business," Yuri glowers, stubbing the end of his cigarette harder than necessary. He huffs out in irritation and gives up on it, staring at the windows above his late grandfather's desk. The street looks dark outside, gravel shifting whenever a car passes by. 

"I suppose that's a yes," Victor sighs, scratching at the end of his chin. 

"I want nothing with him anymore, Victor," Yuri says, staring his cousin defiantly in the eyes. 

"Really?" Victor asks unbelievingly, arching an eyebrow at Yuri in amusement. "Because I can remember some other times you said that before and-" 

"He fucking married, Victor!" Yuri says, probably louder than necessary. Something makes a sound from the other side of the door and Yuri wonders if Katsuki hasn't been listening in on them all this time. He bites his bottom lip. He doesn't like this subject. He hadn't spent a week inside his apartment, eating junk food and smoking to get rid of his missing of Otabek just to have Victor come and tease him with it. People think it's a melodramatic telenovela, what he and Otabek have (had); just sit back and have fun watching these two bastards going on and off again. But they would never understand. 

"He had to," Victor says, his tone low and soft. He watches Yuri, shockingly, as though _he_ understands. "He didn't even choose the bride. And you had no problems with him so far. I mean, you did dance with him at his wedding." Yuri tenses, wonders if Victor knows what they'd done on Otabek's nuptials before he went to his wife. "What happened at the funeral?" 

Yuri doesn't want to answer him. He wants to question what kind of authority Victor thinks he has to ask him such things. He doesn't come here to prod around his and Katsuki's private love lives. But Yuri ends up saying it, partly because he wants to share it with someone and partly because he just wants this conversation to end, and Victor wasn't known for been kept waiting for an answer. Yuri doubts he doesn't already know. Yuri knows for a fact Frank keeps tabs on him under Victor's request. 

"I recalled his deal with grandpa. He's fucking dead anyway, so we could revoke it. But apparently he doesn't want to divorce his little wife anymore," it hurts more to admit to that than thinking it and Yuri fears his voice has come out shaky. He wants desperately for a cigarette. He can hide behind that. But he can't hide inside his grandfather's study, under Victor's lucid gaze. 

"I see," Victor says. He looks thoughtful, but clears his throat and leans back on his armchair. "Well, the thing I wanted to talk to you about-" 

"Oh, so there is something," Yuri mumbles, staring at his lap and fiddling with the small pendant hanging on his choker. It was a golden ballerina, skirt laded with small diamonds. It was, like many other things, a gift from Otabek. Yuri wished he hadn't worn it, but he can't make himself stop. 

Victor doesn't take his grumbling to heart. "Nikolai's testament will be released next week. I spoke to his lawyer on the phone today and he gave me a preview." 

Yuri looks up. "Hn?" He doesn't care for what his grandfather left him. If he even did at all. Nikolai had been adamant when sick, bed-ridden, he had called for Victor and Yuri in his bedroom and said Victor should be the one to run the family after he was gone. Which was obvious. Yuri didn't want or was suited for that. But in some way it belonged to him. He had _lived_ with his grandfather. Victor, his distant cousin, showed up only two years before he died. 

"Yuri," Victor says, a little bit louder than before, to get Yuri's attention from his nebulous thoughts. "He left you the summer house." 

Yuri's breath hitches. "What?" 

"The summer house in Italy," Victor says, courteously looking away from Yuri's tear-filled eyes. "I'll give you the keys to it next week when his lawyer comes here. Yuri," Victor calls, tenderly, grimacing uncomfortably and offering Yuri his handkerchief. 

Yuri has hidden his face behind his hands. Gods, he hated crying. He hated crying in front of other people, mostly, but when Victor said- That fucking bastard. Even dead his grandfather could still have something up his sleeve, a last curse to rain on Yuri. The summer house. He left it to Yuri as a joke. It was where he and Otabek spent their first rendezvous summer when teenagers, where Yuri'd lost his virginity to him and the place where they congregated afterwards for more of their shared passion. Nikolai had gone furious when he'd found it out. Had forbidden Yuri from seeing the boy again (not that it worked) and locked the house down. And now he left it to Yuri. As some sort of taunt, Yuri didn't know. His grandfather had always had so many different shades that Yuri was often lost as to what he meant in a bigger scope. He can even hear his voice in his head, _'it is however you should interpret it, Yurochka,'_ and then his smile when he realized he'd caught little Yuri in a riddle, _'it's not what it is to others that is important. It is how you see it, Yurochka. So, how do you see it?'_. 

Yuri doesn't know the answer to that. He could be admonishing Yuri, wanted it to serve as a reminder of Yuri's past mistakes and his own generous mercy, wanted it to be an everlasting penitence, revisiting the places where he'd once had Otabek knowing he wouldn't anymore. Or it could be a sanctuary, a last benevolent act, giving back to Yuri what had always been his. 

Reaching for the handkerchief, Yuri tries to dry his face, feeling suffocated by the silence that is only broken by his soft, dying sobs. He must have ruined Victor's handkerchief with smudged eyeliner, so he leaves it on the coffee table and gets to his feet. He says nothing before exiting the room. The hallway smells of slowly simmering katsudon, and Yuri can hear Katsuki's gentle humming of a song from the kitchen. 

He heads to the front door even though his stomach protests, entering the hall and pushing open the door to the toilet. His face looks a mess. Pale with only dark streaks that mark the path of his tears down his cheeks. Yuri groans, tapping the faucet on and ducking to wash his face. 

It doesn't help much, damn waterproof make-up, but his face is cleared of most of all the make-up that hid the dark circles under his eyes. Yuri stares at his reflection for a minute, adjusting his hair to the side. The ballerina hanging on his neck glints ominously under the faint light coming from the hall. 

Yuri's eye is caught by something at the door and he looks up through the reflection, where it is barely closed, a small gap where someone looms behind, a dark eye watching him. Yuri's heart flips and he wrings the door open in a single breath. 

"What are you doing here?" He shouts. 

Otabek blinks at him, in the same damn pressed suit from the funeral, only now he has a five o'clock shadow that Yuri would have drooled over in any other occasion. "Yura," he mumbles lostly, eyes flittering over Yuri's face. He seems to be as surprised as Yuri. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Yuri repeats himself. 

"Victor," he says, simply. Otabek's eyes fall on his pendant, staying there for a second before taking in Yuri's red-rimmed eyes. He knows how much Yuri hates crying. 

"Has someone hurt you?" Otabek asks, in a single breath. He secures Yuri's elbows in his hands, eyes boring into his with sudden intent. "Yura, has someone- I swear to god, I'll k-" 

"Kill them?" Yuri huffs out in mock amusement, pulling his arms away from Otabek's loose grip. "They're already dead." 

Otabek scrutinizes him for half a second before drawing his conclusion. "Nikolai." 

Yuri gulps, nodding and averting his gaze from Otabek. He feels so _ugly_. He hates looking ugly in front of Otabek. 

When in his loft, lying in bed and remembering Otabek on the day of the funeral Yuri swore to himself he'd never look at his face again. That if, should show he up somewhere where Yuri was at, Yuri was going to cut him back with so many venomous words that everyone would surely know they'd moved on for good, that now Yuri had a firm, set mind and that he hated Otabek's guts. It was all a fantasy, it seems, it always is. Because Yuri can't do that. Otabek has found him washing his face at the sink, pathetic, after crying because of his grandfather's testament and Yuri only feels like hugging him, like apologizing and kissing him and asking for reassurance that everything was going to be okay. And he knows part of that lies on the reason that Otabek hadn't _done_ anything to him, not directly. He'd never asked Yuri to love him. 

"He left me the summer house," Yuri says, staring at the hardwood flooring. He can feel the way Otabek freezes in front of him. 

"Did he?" He asks lowly. Yuri looks up. Otabek is making the face he usually does before kissing him, the way his lips part slightly, neck tilted downwards, eyes focused on Yuri, so dark but so warm. "Yura," he begins, reaching a finger up to tilt Yuri's chin. 

"Otabek, sorry for making you- Oh," it's Katsuki, coming from the kitchen and halting at the entrance to the hall. They both pull apart, Otabek gulping and pocketing his hand while Yuri leans against the entryway to the toilet. Katsuki blinks at them, a flush high on his cheeks. He looks extremely embarrassed. "I'm so sorry. I didn't- I don't know if I should," he sighs, looking at the floor for a second, wringing his hands together. In any other situation Yuri would find it funny, but now he only waits for Katsuki to conclude whatever it is he wants to say. 

Katsuki looks up at them finally, mouth open to continue when he catches Yuri's face. His mouth gaps opens. "Yuri, were you-" his gaze turns to Otabek, suddenly blithering and accusatory. 

"Yuuri, I didn't-" 

"I should take you to Victor then, Otabek," Katsuki says crisply. "Follow me," he turns on his heels and watches Otabek over his shoulder. 

Otabek gives Yuri a helpless look, like he wished he could say something more. He glances at Katsuki, who is apparently blaming Otabek for having made Yuri cry. He sighs, "I'll talk to you," Otabek murmurs, "later. Will you-" 

"Otabek," it's Katsuki, arms crossed over his chest. 

Yuri manages a small smile at the situation. Otabek gulps, brushing his fingers over Yuri's as he walks up to Katsuki. "Bye, Yura," he says. 

Yuri touches the skin of his fingers as soon as he is gone. He licks his lips, taking his handbag and watching Otabek's back. The butler miraculously appears, opening the front door to Yuri. He looks over his shoulder at Otabek, further into the house, and Otabek looks back.


	3. Chapter 3

Yuri had tried yoga once, when he was a boy. Someone from the house staff had told his grandfather it would be good to calm him down. Nikolai, desperate as he only was at the time, hired an instructor who stopped by three times a week. Needless to say, Yuri had done something to piss her off before he was one month into it – namely, thrown a vase her way – and left alone until the next time Nikolai decided he'd grown 'insufferable' again. 

She'd taught him some things though. According to her, Yuri was much too anxious and needed to find an 'anchor'. _"Something that calms you,"_ she'd explained, as though such a thing existed, _"an image, a memory, maybe even a person. Something that takes your mind off your problems."_

Yuri sometimes thought he'd finally found his anchor. At first, it was sex, which involved Otabek. And then it _was_ Otabek, until Otabek also started being a problem. Then came the cigarettes, but nowadays they're something Yuri lights automatically. That leaves Yuri with the only thing that's never let him down: shopping. Spending his money in frivolous things, new clothes, new fragrances, new _shoes_. It makes everything else feel like an ant that Yuri is about to smash under his shoe. His leopard-print Dolce  & Gabbana pumps, preferably. 

"Francis," Yuri calls on the phone, kicking his feet up on the bed and watching the swirl of smoke that trails off his mouth as he finishes his cigarette, "get the car ready." 

"It's Frank," Frank says with a sigh, "sure thing, Mr Plisetsky. In how long should I be there?" 

Yuri glances at the clock on his bedside table, rolling onto his legs and lighting out his cigarette. "Give me thirty minutes." 

 

\- 

 

He takes more than thirty minutes, but that was a given. Frank is leaning against the car when Yuri goes down the front steps to his building. He doesn't look happy, but anyone made to wait one hour outside probably wouldn't. 

People on the sidewalk do a double-take at Yuri when he passes to enter the car. He's in his most stylish winter coat, white and soft, a turtleneck white shirt, black leather miniskirt and his favourite thigh high leather boots. He takes his sunglasses off and lets his hair blow with the wind and for a moment Yuri thinks he could do this for the rest of his life. 

"Mr Plisetsky," Frank greets in a dull tone when opening the door for Yuri. 

"Thanks, Francis," Yuri says, and sees the way Frank scowls. He lets the door shut with probably more force than necessary while Yuri rechecks his make-up. He reapplies his dark lipstick and puts it away in his tiger-striped purse. 

The drive to the shopping mall is pretty short and Yuri spends it doing a mental list of all he was looking forward to buying. The driver pulls over and lets Yuri and Frank disembark before setting off to do whatever he did, which probably involved pulling back the seat and sleeping until Frank called him back. 

Yuri shoves his sunglasses up his forehead and clacks his heels against the tile of the shopping mall, analysing every familiar store as he goes by. Frank follows in a lazy stroll one step behind, hands pocketed and inspecting the perimeter. 

The mall has barely any people today, given the time, a little after noon on a Thursday. It suits Yuri just fine as he hates other people. 

His favorite coiffeur comes into sight when he rounds the corner and Yuri's feet lead him there directly. The girl at the front desk positively beams when he walks in. 

"Mr Plisetsky," she greets lively, ignoring the client she was already speaking to to turn in his direction. "I'm so glad to see you. How have you been?" Her smile dips a little, "oh, I heard the news about your grandfather. I'm so sorry," she makes a consternated face. "Well, how can we be of help to you today, sir?" 

Yuri grins. 

 

\- 

 

There's nothing funnier than watching Frank's face through the mirror as Yuri gets his nails and hair done. Frank's been made to wait next to the husbands and boyfriends of the other female patrons, clearly out of place in his suit and pretending to be reading a magazine on fitness and how to acquire a perfect body shape in one week. 

Yuri tilts his head back and watches the guy working on his hair. He's getting highlights on a paler shade of blonde which he frankly doesn't think will be visible given his own flaxen hair, but it'll certainly make it look cleaner and brighter. A woman does his toenails while another, his finger nails. He was unsure if he should have them colored red or black, but she'd shown him a palette with the colors of the season and he'd gone with a dark brown color labelled _Italian coffee_ , whatever that is. After this he'll be probably go through a waxing session and then maybe a massage. 

There are days when it sucks being Yuri Plisetsky. Then there are days like this, when being Yuri Plisetsky is amazing. 

Yuri feels renewed after the whole ordeal, like a model straight out of the runway. He used to come here frequently before his and Otabek's encounters, at a rented flat downtown that served only for that purpose, mimicking Nikolai's summer house in Italy. Oops, Yuri's summer house. Coming here again awakens memories in Yuri's head. But those he ignores. 

Yuri extends his credit card towards the cashier when done. He's checking his feed when she tells him it doesn't seem to be working. 

"What?" Yuri screeches, and takes the card back before shovelling all the other five credit cards left in his possession. "Try these." 

The result is the same. None of them work. Yuri bristles, tapping his meticulously done fingers on his screen until reaching Victor. 

"Victor, what the hell?! Where the fuck is my money?" 

" _Grandfather_ 's money," Victor corrects in his superior tone. He sounds agitated over the connection. "It's been blocked by the bank." 

"Well, for what fucking reason?" Yuri shouts. He doesn't care if he's making a scandal. He's gone a long time without making them anyway. Frank is wandering in front of the glass doors, a vaguely amused air to him as he stares at the floor and avoids Yuri's eyes. 

Victor sighs at the other end of the line. "Because he's dead, Yuri, what do you think?" 

"We have a joint account," Yuri protests. The girl from the cashier avoids his gaze and pretends not to be listening in. 

"Which he was the holder of," Victor states. He sounds pathetically tired. 

"It's still in my fucking name, they can't do that. Fix it!" 

"Look, Yuri, as much as I would _love_ to do that for you, I'm kind of very busy at the moment," Victor retorts crossly. 

"Then how the fuck am I gonna pay for my shit?" 

Victor lets out a tight breath. "Ask your lover to do it," he says, clipped, and then hangs up on him. 

How dare him speak to Yuri like that? He was Nikolai's grandson just as well as he was. But then again Yuri wasn't the head of the family. If Victor was thinking he could go around treating Yuri like scum because Nikolai had trusted him with the family he had another thing coming. 

Growling, Yuri shoves his phone inside his purse and looks up. The cashier is looking at him, waiting. Yuri sighs, shutting his eyes for a moment and settling his hands on his waist. Licking his lips, he turns to Frank. 

"Francis, do you have a card on you?" 

 

\- 

 

"It's Frank, by the way," Frank speaks around the venom that's probably leaking from his teeth, watching Yuri with a sneer as he pockets his credit card whose account had just received a sizable blow of six hundred dollars, thank you, Yuri Plisetsky. 

"Yeah, right," Yuri mumbles, walking ahead of him towards his favorite restaurant, "I'll tell Victor to give you a raise or some shit." 

The maître, like the front desk girl, smiles at Yuri's apparition. Frank halts at the entrance to the restaurant, pulling lightly on Yuri's wrist. 

Yuri turns briskly to him, taking his wrist out of reach. "What?" 

"Are we eating here?" Frank asks, watching the dimly lit interior, the tables lined with white clothes, countless silverware and tall wine glasses. 

Yuri rolls his eyes, "duh, yes." 

"Look, sir," Frank cocks his head in his direction, "if I'll be the one paying, things won't work out like this." 

Yuri raises an eyebrow. "I'll write them a check or something, you meathead," he huffs, and nods at the maître, who all so pleasingly leads them inside. Frank follows controversially, taking the seat across from Yuri's. 

They are silent for a minute until the waiter brings a petit basket of bread, butter and foie gras. "For how long did you know my grandfather?" Yuri asks out of the blue, digging his knife into the butter and crunching the bread apart. 

Frank seems taken off guard for a moment. "Hm, a little over a month before he-." 

Yuri eyes him over the wine card, selecting a red and sending the waiter off with his order. "Really? Did you work for the Altins?" 

Frank frowns slightly and shakes his head, taking a piece of the bread as well. 

"Funny. I thought there was a reason why you hated Otabek." 

"I don't hate-" 

"That's not true," Yuri cuts him off, smirking, "you and I both know it." 

Frank doesn't say anything else to that. 

"So, who did you work for before my grandfather contacted you?" Yuri eggs on way later, when their food had already arrived. 

Frank chews on his meat and only answers when his mouth is empty. "The Qalat," he says in a smidgeon of voice, looking back down at his plate. 

Yuri's eyebrows jump surprisingly. "The Pakistani. Aren't they Altin's enemies though?" Yuri asks, but he already knows the answer. Frank nods tightly, and Yuri smirks. "So there is a reason why you don't like him, after all. I wonder why my grandfather called you in the first place," Yuri narrows his eyes at Frank. 

This sort of manipulation comes easily to him. Nikolai had always underestimated Yuri. He thought Yuri didn't have an eye for these things, for the dirty management their family did. 

"Isn't it obvious?" Frank lifts his eyes from his food to say. 

Yuri stares at him. He has a bald head, an awful goatee and a scar across his face. When Nikolai had introduced them Yuri thought him a brute, a creepy thing. He still is. 

"He wanted you away from Altin, your grandfather," Frank says, dabbing his mouth with the napkin once done. 

"Did he tell you that?" Yuri asks. 

When Frank grins his face gets kind of distorted. "He didn't have to." 

 

\- 

 

Yuri continues on his stroll through the mall, Frank following behind. He'd bought three new pairs of shoes: an ankle boot with laces in a nude color, stilettos and floral hightops. He'd gotten more dresses too, stockings, a new swimsuit and a jacket. 

The window-shops weren't distracting him anymore though, and he was thinking about turning around and going back home when he spotted it. The lingerie shop he used to buy at. _Used to_ because he did it when he and Beka _used to_ have sex. 

Yuri averts his eyes when passing in front of it, glad that the attendant was looking somewhere else or she would've certainly recognized him. She'd asked once, very discreetly, if his "partner" was enjoying Yuri's gifts. Yuri, because he was absolutely crazy, had said his _husband_ loved them, and spent the rest of the time hiding his left hand from her view. He didn't know why he was embarrassed afterwards, it was none of her business that he fucked a married man, but the lie stung in a different way. 

Yuri decides that he's done for the day, and turns on his heels to exit the mall. He stops abruptly though when he spots a flashy boutique. They sell clothes for children and teenagers, but an item catches Yuri's eye. 

"Frank, wait here," he says, and steps inside. 

 

\- 

 

Frank finally lets out a relieved breath once they get in the car. He'd flung all of Yuri's shopping bags into the trunk. 

"Home, sir?" The driver asks, adjusting the rear-view mirror before pulling off. 

Yuri scrubs his hand-sanitizer on his hands, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "Not at all," Frank glances his way warily. Yuri preens, "We'll be visiting someone. An old friend of mine." 

When Yuri spills the address to the driver he can see the way Frank grows tense, jaws squaring. Yuri's driver doesn't look impressed, he knows the way there by heart. There's a high-strung silence inside the car, and Frank sighs when they pull over. 

Yuri ignores him, getting his shopping bag and tittering up the steps to the house. It's antique but well-kept, similar to Yuri's old home. The heavy mahogany door contains a peephole and a golden doorbell that Yuri presses familiarly. He can hear the sound it makes throughout the house, and looks over his shoulder at Frank, leaning against the car with his arms crossed. He doesn't like it here, and Yuri grins. The Altin's main house would surely make him that uneasy. 

Yuri's least favorite maid comes to answer the door. She's round all over, with cheeks that get increasingly red when she spots Yuri. "Mr Plisetsky," she says, looking over her shoulder at the interior of the house. "Good evening, sir. How can I help you?" Her words are polite but her eyes glare daggers at Yuri. She's fisting her apron in tight hands. 

"Hi, Hilda, miss me?" Yuri pouts, inching his sunglasses up his forehead. 

Hilda worked for the Altins for a long time. According to her, she'd raised Otabek, his brothers and his sisters practically by herself. She loved them like her own children and couldn't stand anything that profaned the family name. Such _thing_ was, of course, Yuri, whom she considered to be some kind of whore that had bewitched her Otabek, a curse to the family's name. She'd cried with joy when Otabek's marriage was arranged, to a _respectable young woman_ , she'd proudly said to Yuri's face. 

"I prefer not to answer that, Mr Plisetsky," she says now, lips quirking in a snarl. "As I said, how can I help you?" 

"I came to see Malika," he lifts the shopping bag to eye-level, "got her a little something she might like." 

"Mrs Altin is taking her piano lessons now, sir," Hilda grins unevenly, "unfortunately, that won't be possible." 

Hilda is about to close the door to his face, but Yuri inches the beak of his boot and prevents her from doing so. She rakes her eyes over his clothes disdainfully, a vein popping on her forehead. 

"She can certainly take a break to see me," Yuri states. 

This isn't good. Hilda would do anything in her power to make sure Yuri wouldn't put his foot inside that house again. To his luck, someone calls her from inside. 

"Hilda, who is it?" 

Both Hilda and Yuri freeze on the doorstep. It's Otabek's grandmother. Her silver hair is in a bun and she wears a floral long dress. She also walks with the help of a cane, skull-shaped. She was _rad_ , and she loved Yuri. 

She sticks her head over Hilda's shoulder, and even her wrinkled face slacks in surprise. Her pursed mouth doesn't hide her smile. "Well, if it isn't our young Yuri Plisetsky. What brings you here, boy? Hilda, let him in. I suppose you can make us some tea as well," she says, walking back inside the house and sending Hilda a look. 

Hilda very controversially opens the door to let Yuri in. 

"Thanks, darling," Yuri tells her over his shoulder, following on Otabek's grandmother's footsteps like he owned the house. He can feel Hilda glowering, and he loves it. 

The interior of the house is kept perfectly clean, oil paintings hanging on the walls depicting Otabek's ancestors. Otabek's grandmother, Nuriya, leads Yuri towards a sitting room he'd been to before. She waddles towards a seat across her chess board and lets her cane rest between her knees, watching Yuri through her small black eyes. 

"Come play chess with me, boy," she says, reaching to arrange the pieces on the board. 

Yuri sighs, "I'm tired of losing to you, grandma," he drops the shopping bag on the couch and takes the seat across hers though. 

"Nonsense," Nuriya purses her lips, "come on, and tell me everything now before Hilda comes back. She likes to eavesdrop, that trickster. The black pieces are me," she moves her pawn and waits for Yuri's move. 

Yuri sighs, moving another of his pawns. Nuriya is very good at chess and he doesn't take the time to think before acting, it's kind of useless anyway, she always wins. 

"So, how is my grandson?" She asks, moving her piece on the board. "He's seemed distraught lately; how is the sex?" 

That's why he likes Otabek's grandmother, she never hides the fact that she knows what is going on between them, and doesn't treat Yuri any lesser because of it. Yuri flings some of his hair away. "We haven't really spoken since my grandfather's funeral." 

Nuriya gives a teasing smirk, resting her hands on the skull atop her cane. "In my time you didn't need to speak to fuck." 

Yuri grins, "Well, we haven't been doing neither." 

Nuriya hums, moving another piece on the board, "you need to talk to him. No one talks to an old woman anymore but I know there's something wrong in the family. I can sense it. And that wife of his is as slow as a snail Oh, my Beka did a terrible job by not making an honest man out of you." 

Yuri smiles sadly, flicking dust off his coat. Hilda chooses that moment to appear with the tea. She makes the ugliest face when pouring Yuri some of it, but she doesn't dare say anything to him in the presence of someone of the family. Yuri doesn't drink it either way. 

"Is Malika in?" Yuri asks. 

"Upstairs," Nuriya says, humming when taking a sip of her tea. "Go, go," she waves Yuri away. "But come back another time, dear. I miss talking to you." 

Yuri takes his shopping bag and goes towards the stairs. His heels click against the carpeted surface of the floor, and the the upper floor is eerily silent save for the soft piano notes coming from the music room. Malika is the youngest Altin, only fourteen, and she had a soft spot for Yuri. Yuri had one for her as well. 

"Lika," he calls when he arrives at the door. It's open, and Malika is sat on her piano stool, long hair kept in a braid down her back, a face that resembles so much Otabek's, focused on her hands. She startles when she hears Yuri's voice, a smile splitting her face when she turns and spots him. 

"Yuri!" she jumps from her stool, running towards him. Yuri opens his arms and giggles when she almost knocks him down. "You came! Oh, look at you, so beautiful! Ah! I love your hair!" 

"Little Lika," he crooned, "thank you, darling. Look, I got you something," Yuri handed her the bag. 

Malika gasped, checking the label and giving him a big smile. "Thank you," she leads him to a couch, next to the window overlooking the garden. "I didn't know you'd come," Malika says, taking a seat beside him and opening her present. "Mom and dad have left again, they barely ever stop by," she sighs, and then glances at Yuri, "you should've been careful, if they caught you here-" 

"Well," Yuri smirks, "I can risk lots of things to see my little princess," he squeezes her cheek and Malika blushes, pulling out the dress Yuri'd bought her from the wrapping paper. 

"Yuri! Oh, it's beautiful," she gasps, standing up to try it in front of herself. "Do you think it'll fit though?" 

The dress is black leather, like so many things Yuri owns. Malika says she loves his style, and Yuri thought she would treasure something like that of her own. 

"Sure," Yuri motions for her to come closer. She does and Yuri adjusts the collar on her. Malika looks down at herself and smiles. "Darling," Yuri pinches her cheek, "you look dashing." 

 

\- 

 

Otabek spots the car the minute his driver turns into his father's street. His bodyguard does too. He glances at Otabek and doesn't say a word. Otabek recognizes the car plate, heart jumping inside his chest the minute he does. Yuri and him had exchanged short messages the last days. He wasn't sure where their relationship stood now, but he'd apologized for what he'd said at the funeral and Yuri hadn't touched the subject anymore. 

"Sweetheart," his wife, Safiya, speaks up from beside Otabek. She had been engrossed on her phone during the entire ride and Otabek fed the small hope that she wouldn't notice Yuri's car. Otabek suspects she doesn't recognize the owner though, "who is that?" She asks, glancing at the car parked in front of the house. 

"I don't know, one of my father's friends possibly," Otabek says, hand flying to open the door when the car pulls over. 

"I thought they were still in America," Safiya expertly says, excitedly pocketing her phone in her small purse. "Why didn't you tell me they'd be here sooner? Well, anyway, I have to talk to your mother about our curtains," she smiles, climbing down from the car. 

"Shit," Otabek says under his breath, shutting the door. 

There's a figure leaning against Yuri's car, that scar-faced bodyguard of his. He nods at Otabek and gives him an evil grin when Safiya teeters around the car in her high-heels. She tenses when taking Otabek's arm, watching Yuri's bodyguard as though trying to make out where she'd seen him before. 

Otabek hastens his footsteps and ignores the bodyguard, ringing the doorbell and willing someone to answer the door. Hopefully not Yuri. Otabek's heart is racing inside his chest. He doesn't know what he'll do if Yuri shows up. He was sure Safiya knew about them, but she'd been laying low since the funeral after Otabek had assured her they weren't seeing each other anymore. She would freak out if she worked out Yuri was here. 

Hilda gets the door. Her face is pale though she greets them politely, but she sends the coldest look Otabek's way, taking Safiya's coat to hang. 

"We're sorry for intruding," Safiya begins, "aren't mom and dad home yet?" She looks widely around. She'd taken to calling Otabek's parents mom and dad too. It irks Otabek, like a friend trying to feel much too comfortable inside a place they don't belong. 

"They are not, my lady," Hilda promptly answers, once again sending a dark glance Otabek's way. 

"There's a car parked here though," Safiya explains, "Beka said it might be one of our allies." 

Hilda licks her lips, "it's true. Just one of the youngest Altin's friends though." 

"Oh," Safiya frowns. "In that case-" 

"But wouldn't you like to come in, my lady?" Hilda offers, and for a moment Otabek gives her a harsh look. 

He loves Hilda, she's watched over them with a lot of care since they were children but she'd always disapproved of Yuri. She barely spoke to Otabek nowadays. She'd said once his relationship with Yuri was _disgusting_ and that's as far as she went before Otabek cut her off. He had had to remind her she had no place in the family's business and what they chose to do with their private lives, which was something he didn't like doing. It bought her silence though, even if the accusing looks were for free. 

"I have to drop this off at my father's office," Otabek indicates the folder that had him stopping by in the first place. 

"My lady wouldn't like some tea?" Hilda continues. "I prepared it only now for our eldest Mrs Altin." 

Safiya gives an uncertain smile, looking at Otabek for salvation. She doesn't like Otabek's grandmother at all. Otabek gives a curt nod. "Sure," she ends up saying, unwillingly following on Hilda's footsteps when Otabek turns his back to her and heads to the stairs. 

He can smell Yuri's perfume in the air, intoxicating. It brings him memories and warms a special place inside his chest. Yuri must have come to visit Malika. He adored her and the girl grew quite fond of his crass mannerisms, which is something their parents and Hilda had worked to undermine since they were children. 

Otabek's loafers make no sound when he steps into the upper floor. He knows every nook and cranny of this house, and knows exactly where that particular littering laugh is coming from. The door to the music room is ajar, and Otabek slinks to the shadows by the doorframe. 

Malika is wearing a black leather dress, backless and decked in brilliant strass. If their mother saw her like that she'd have already passed out. She's sat in front of Yuri, who has his back to the door as he applies lipstick on her lips. The corners of Malika's eyes are crinkled in amusement, and she does as Yuri tells her to, smashing both her lips together and releasing them with a small pop. Yuri laughs and Malika stares admiringly at him before her eyes tray to her brother. Her spine goes taut when she catches him watching them and though Otabek lifts one finger to his lips to ask for her silence, Yuri has already turned around. 

Yuri is surprised to see him, Otabek realizes. So, he hadn't come here to see him, as Otabek had expected, even though this wasn't admittedly the best of times. But save for the small quirk of his lips when Yuri spots him, his lover (ex-lover?) does nothing else except for storing his lipstick on his purse when Malika goes running to Otabek. 

"Beka," she shrieks, tightening her arms around his waist. 

"Lika," he appeases, patting her back. He glances up to find Yuri standing from the couch, pulling the hem of his skirt down as he avoids Otabek's eyes. 

"Look," Malika steps back to say, "Yuri got me this. Isn't it beautiful? Now I look like him," she smiles proudly, "we could be brother and sister." 

Otabek nods half-heartedly, watching Yuri, with his hip cocked to the side in a pose of orchestrated distraction, running a hand down the length of his hair and eyes turned to the piano. As though he doesn't know, as though he doesn't _want_ for Otabek's eyes to be trained on him. 

Malika's gaze shifts between them, as she presents her brother with a coquettish smile. "I'll put it away, I guess," she says, braid whipping to the side when she runs back to Yuri. "Thanks, Yura," she murmurs, though Otabek catches it, and then shoots Otabek a mischievous grin over her shoulder before motioning for Yuri to bend at her height. He does so, and Malika cups a hand to her mouth as she whispers something on his ear. 

Yuri lets out a soft chuckle, snapping a kiss to the crown of her head before she turns on her heels. Otabek's sister walks past him with a wink, exiting the music room and closing the door with a small click. 

Otabek doesn't know what to say, in fact, the sight of Yuri in his attire is enough to leave him breathless. He pockets his hands and looks up. "I- I didn't know you'd be here," he says lamely. 

Yuri shrugs one shoulder in response, gliding his finger down the length of the piano. "I missed Malika." 

Otabek nods. "How have you been?" 

"Good," Yuri makes a face, giving Otabek his back and sauntering to the window instead. "Coping," he adds, settling a hand on the glass and staring down at Otabek's family's garden. He doesn't flinch when Otabek steps behind him, the breath leaving him in small, warm puffs. 

Otabek would be lying if he said he felt nothing when seeing Yuri. He would, in fact, most certainly be saying the biggest lie he's ever uttered to anyone. Seeing Yuri now doesn't bring fond memories to the front of his mind, doesn't make him want to apologize. Seeing Yuri makes him want to fuck him, to eat him alive in the most desecrated ways. His cock is half-hard inside his pants already and they haven't even touched yet. There's no denying Yuri is everything Otabek earns for, body and soul. 

Otabek touches the tip of Yuri's hair, rubbing his fingers on the soft, wavy perfection of it. It smells like beauty products and Otabek wants to bury his nose in it. There's a hitch in Yuri's breath, Otabek can hear it. 

"And is Malika the only one," Otabek says, looking down at Yuri's body, "that you missed?" Otabek doesn't allow himself to speak anything other than lowly in Yuri's presence, trying to allure him as best as he can, afraid that he'll somehow spook him. 

Yuri turns to appraise him, eyes already at half-mast when he gazes upon Otabek's face. His lips are half-open languorously, dark with lipstick; his irises swarmed by the black of his pupils. "Surely not," he says, and tilts his head back when Otabek reaches for the collar of his turtleneck, "I missed her brother too." 

Otabek's breath leaves him when he sees the expanse of Yuri's neck, pale and kissable, begging to be marked by Otabek's teeth. Otabek can't forgive himself for having let Yuri down on his promise, and lunges to mouth at his throat. 

Yuri melts like puddle under his hands, back to the glass as he sinfully opens his legs, crushing his hands to Otabek's hair and pulling him in to occupy the space between them. His cock is as excited as Otabek's and Yuri lets out a half-sob when Otabek sinks his teeth into the skin of his neck. "Beka," he breathes, in that voice and way that only Yuri knows how to make. Otabek is crazy about him. 

Otabek leaves as many marks as he can, his pants feeling all too tight on him, the air around them hot and oppressing. He feels a need surging up on him, animalistic as Yuri claws his perfect nails into the base of his undercut. "Fuck me," he sighs on Otabek's ear, head lolling to the side as he squeezes his inner thighs around Otabek's hips. 

Otabek diligently squeezes handfuls of Yuri's thighs where they are bare and exposed, hitching him up and forcing him down on the piano. His hands are swift and hungry as he rakes his short nails on the expanse of Yuri's skin, leaving angry red marks on his thighs as he bunches Yuri's skirt up. 

Yuri hisses next to his ear, making these wanton little moans as he smashes Otabek's face to his. They kiss ferociously, humping against the other. Yuri is supple and soft everywhere, just like Otabek remembered him to be, and his mouth is wicked when joined to Otabek's, his tongue seeking Otabek's and curling around it, licking at his lips and chin and they're so sloppy, his lipstick staining the lower half of both their faces. 

"I have no lube," Otabek says, frantically grinding against Yuri's clothed dick, reaching down to unbuckle himself. Yuri makes grabby hands at his purse, that had fallen to the floor. Otabek jumps to snatch it and as he does Yuri hurriedly pulls his underwear off, leaving him completely clothed, with red strings bright against the pale skin of his thighs. 

Otabek comes back, the top of his hair having come out of its gelled perfection. He always lost his good boy ways when with Yuri, pulling in fast lungfuls of air as he squeezes lube onto his fingers, drawing Yuri closer by a fist to his hair when he finds his hole. Yuri arches his back against the touch, letting out a silent gasp when Otabek sets to work. He's fast and unapologetic as he works each finger inside of Yuri, mouth setting errant kisses on Yuri's face and everywhere else he can reach until Yuri is laughing at the pure, unbridled lust of it, scurrying his hands down to Otabek's crotch and unzipping him free. 

Yuri swallows his lover's gasp when he fists both hands on his cock, pumping him the way he likes it, in a strong grip and a slow glide. Otabek's breath puffs on Yuri's ear, and he looks completely gone when he takes his fingers out of Yuri's ass, deeming him appropriately stretched. 

They're in a hurry here but Yuri longs to feel Otabek's cock again, setting the piercing heel of his boots on each side of Otabek's hips to push him back for a second. Otabek is slow to reaction, but all he does is hungrily run his hands up the length of Yuri's booted legs and let his head fall back when Yuri closes his lips around his leaking cock. 

Otabek tastes salty on Yuri's tongue, the engorged cockhead sliding past his lips with ease. Otabek grunts above him, fisting Yuri's hair unforgivingly and watching lazily as his cock disappears past Yuri's mouth. Reacquainted, Yuri pulls back and licks a stripe up the proud erection, moaning and fisting the lapels of Otabek's jacket when his lover pulls him by the hips to enter him in a smooth, single thrust. 

"Arghh," Yuri squeezes his eyes shut, banging fists against Otabek's shoulder when the length of him pierces the hot channel. Otabek sets a hard pace with a deep, short thrusts. Yuri locks his knees around him, meeting him for each one, the skin of his bare ass and thighs gluing to the smooth surface of the piano and making an indecent sound as he cants his hips forward. 

Otabek chases his pleasure inside Yuri's body with crazy abandon. There's something raw about himself when he fucks Yuri, something he can't let go of. No one understands. His parents say it's ungodly, but god has made them as they are, nymphomaniacs for each other. 

There are sounds downstairs and Otabek's eyes go wide. It doesn't deter him from fucking Yuri all the faster though. Yuri holds on to the back of his neck, Otabek pulling him by the waist until only the bottom of Yuri's spine rested against the piano, the rest of his weight supported on Otabek's cock. Yuri cries out, squeezing around him and begging to come. Otabek shushes him, fisting Yuri's cock in one hand and whipping his head to the door. 

"What's- Who's-" Yuri tries, but Otabek hits his prostate and he sets both his hands behind him on the piano for support. "Beka, just- go, faster, _there_ , I-" 

There's a knock on the door, hurried. "Beka?" It's Malika. 

Otabek can't stop fucking Yuri, even though the sound of his young sister's voice tries to break through the fog of lust. 

"Beka, they're asking after you," Malika says, and Otabek watches the knob turn. 

"Malika, don't come in!" He shouts and Yuri moans in front of him, eyes closed in bliss as he lowers himself on Otabek's cock, hair painted in a disarray against the black of the piano. 

Otabek hides his face in the crook of Yuri's neck when the tightness of him suddenly becomes unbearable. He claws Yuri's ass flush against his cock, riding the pulses of his orgasm as he spills inside his blonde lover. Yuri's face has frozen with his mouth gaping open, hitching small, repetitive sounds with each shallow thrust. 

Otabek groans, slamming both fists on the piano beside Yuri's spread thighs. It makes an ominous sound and Yuri's breath rasps on Otabek's neck as his breath slows down. Otabek has half a mind to wrap his hand around Yuri's cock and pump him until completion. Yuri's face wrenches in pleasure as he locks his teeth on Otabek's earlobe. 

His ribcage shakes under Otabek's hands, and when he lets up there are tears leaking down the corners of his eyes. "Beka, I-" 

"I know," Otabek secures his face with both hands, "me too." 

Yuri looks depraved and fucked out, his cheeks glinting with sweat and tears, tinged pink; his lips smeared with lipstick. Otabek mustn't look too different, and when he blinks he regains his mind back and remembers what he came here to do. 

"Fuck," Otabek lets out, pulling out in slow agony. Yuri whines at the pull, hand to the gap of his hole to stopper the flow of Otabek's come out. He watches as Otabek tucks himself away, zipping up his pants and buckling his belt as he looks at the door. He pulls out his handkerchief to clear his face off Yuri's lipstick, pushing the lock of hair back in place. 

"Hey," Yuri says when Otabek makes to steps away, eyebrows raised pointedly at the mess he still is. 

"Sorry, I have to go," Otabek says after a gulpful of air. "My-" 

Yuri's face dawns in comprehension. "Is she here?" He murmurs. 

Otabek nods, looking widely around the room until finding the folder he'd brought, lying on floor by the couch. He snatches it up and walks towards Yuri, handing him his handkerchief to clean himself. "I'll call you," Otabek says, "okay? I'll call you. I'll rent the flat for the weekend." 

Yuri nods excitedly. "Fuck yes." 

"I have to go, Yura," Otabek squeezes his eyes shut, feet moving to the door before he curses a low "shit," and then goes back to pull Yuri into a kiss. "Wait until I'm gone to go downstairs," he says to Yuri's lips, finally turning around and leaving the room. 

 

\- 

 

Otabek has enough time to leave the folder on top of his father's desk before hurrying down the stairs. Safiya is already halfway up despite Malika's protests from the bottom of the stairs and both turn surprised eyes on him. 

"Beka," Safiya says, eyes wide and curious, "what took you so long? Your sister wouldn't let me up," she points at Malika, pale with fright and wide- eyed, hands curling on the handrail. Otabek feels a deep, guilty sorrow at her expression. He's never felt like such an excuse of a man like he does now, even when Yuri fought with him he didn't feel like that. His little sister had had to keep his wife away because Otabek was upstairs fucking his lover and cheating on her. Otabek gulps and gives her an apologetic look. 

Hilda has her hands on her hips and stares at Otabek accusingly, probably knowing all too well what he'd been up to. Otabek can't blame her. 

"I got," he shakes his head, "I found some things in my father's study," he lies, knowing Safiya would be too curious to know what secrets he'd unearthed from a century's old study. She liked novels like that, and it would go well with Otabek's shaken, perplexed appearance. 

Safiya draws her face back, studying her husband. "What things?" She asks in a lower voice, taking his arm to accompany him down the stairs. 

Otabek shrugs, feeling incapable of coming up with anything else and once more lying to the face of his sister. He'd run a huge risk today. If it weren't for Malika, Safiya would've probably found him out balls deep in Yuri. To explain it hadn't been premeditated would be awful. 

"Well, we're going now. It's almost dark out and Beka promised to take me to dinner, didn't you, love?" Safiya says, pulling him towards the front door. Hilda follows them. 

"Beka," Malika calls, still perched on the last step. Otabek leaves Safiya's side to go to her. 

"Thanks, Lika," he whispers, running a hand down her braid. "I'm sorry that-" 

Malika nods. "I think," she glances at Safiya, "I think you should tell her. This isn't," she shrugs, twisting her mouth, "this isn't nice." 

Otabek nods, feeling a renewed pang of guilt. How could he tell his little sister that he can't stop? 

"Not to her," Malika continues, "and not to Yuri." 

Otabek nods, glancing at Safiya, already impatient next to Hilda. "By the way, I think I'll get you a new piano too." 

Malika gasps and hugs him excitedly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
